


Shit Happens

by hatebeat



Series: Putting the gears in motion [1]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Multi, References to Childhood Sexual Abuse, drug/alcohol abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 14,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatebeat/pseuds/hatebeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>March, 1983. Leaving home was the best decision Pickles ever made, a.k.a. the part of Pickles' life that he doesn't talk about because nobody ever asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. arrest

**Author's Note:**

> Each "chapter" varies in length, but many of them are rather short. If this bothers you, you can read more easily by clicking "view entire work" above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March, 1983

Pickles hadn't said a word since he sat down at the dinner table. There was meatloaf on his plate that he was half-heartedly taking bites of, but the broccoli was going all but ignored. His mother was trying to ask him questions about school, but he hadn't gone to any of his classes besides study hall today. Not like she needed to know that. Luckily, his father made some derogatory remarks about his slipping grades and how he was likely to not finish eleventh grade, which made it fucking easy to continue to evade his mother's questions.

Pickles stabbed at his meatloaf and stuck a big chunk into his mouth.

The phone started to ring while he was chewing. Pickles contemplated getting up to get it, but he had this big bite of meatloaf to chew and all, so fuck it. It didn't matter, because his mom hopped up from her seat right away, saying, "Ooh, I'll get it."

"Who the hell is calling at dinner time? It better not be another one of those damned telemarketers," his dad said. Pickles said nothing.

"Hello? ...Oh, Seth, you're missing dinner again. ...You _what?_ " ...Seth!"

"What the hell is going on?" Pickles' dad asked, but his mom was too distracted to answer. "Well, where are you? ...I know, honey." Pickles didn't care. Whatever Seth had done, he was probably going to get in trouble for it somehow. He knew he shouldn't have come home.

"It's okay, hon, it's okay. I'm going to call a lawyer right away, alright?"

"A lawyer? What the hell, Molly?"

Pickles watched his mom writing some things down, and finish up the phone call. He even ate a bite of the broccoli. Hearing that Seth was in some kind of trouble was making dinner taste way better, actually.

"Seth's been arrested," his mother told them when she turned back to the dinner table.

It took every ounce of restraint Pickles had to keep from laughing out loud.


	2. flight

Somehow, home became more unbearable than usual after Seth was arrested. Pickles thought it couldn't get any worse than having to actually see that shithead on a daily basis, but now that he was being detained and having to go to court and shit, his parents were obsessing over him more than normal.

About a week after the arrest, Pickles was feeling particularly frustrated, so he went into Seth's now-abandoned room to see if he could find some of his pot or something. He didn't find anything, but he ran into his dad in the hallway on the way out.

"What were you doing in your brother's room?" his dad asked him sharply. 

Pickles just shrugged and walked past him.

 

He went out for a while, and he came back home. His parents were both in the living room when he came back. 

"Matthew, your father told me you were in Seth's room earlier," his mother said as a greeting.

"So?" Pickles asked, scowling. He was only a little bit buzzed, but it was enough for his verbal filter to be down.

"You must miss him, hon. We understand," she told him comfortingly. 

"No, I don't. I'm glad that asshole got himself arrested," he responded challengingly. 

Pickles wasn't sure what happened, but his dad was suddenly on his feet, and his hand was connecting with Pickles' cheek. Pickles had no time to stop and think about how it was a bad idea before his fist collided with his old man's stomach.

The momentary pleasure wasn't worth the shit storm that went down after that.

 

After his mother had separated them, Pickles went back to his room, took a few shots from the bottle of cheap whiskey stashed under his bed, and threw his most important possessions into a duffel bag. He had nowhere else to go, but he sure as fuck wasn't staying here. 

On his way past the kitchen, he made a pit stop at the fridge to add the rest of his dad's beer to his bag.

When he passed by the living room on his way out, his father told him, "Get out of here. You belong in a garbage can." Pickles didn't feel guilty for stealing at all.


	3. camping

The first night, Pickles thought he would be able to find a friend to crash with. Turned out, most high school kids have parents and shit who aren't really too keen on letting their kid's delinquent friends crash on their couch. 

With nowhere to go, he walked to the docks at Memorial Park, and sat with his feet in the river while he finished off the beers he had taken from his dad.

The next day, he didn't go to school. He didn't have to. No one was around to make him. This was all actually pretty exciting, even if he didn't have anywhere to go. He bought some pot from a guy he knew, and he spent the day back in the park, not doing a damn thing because no one could make him.

Pickles started to realise, though, that being a runaway in a small town like Tomahawk would be hard. Everyone knew each other here, and particularly, everyone knew the troublemakers, and Pickles happened to be one of them.

Three days later, he went to school again because he could get something cheap to eat, and he was bored as hell of sitting in the park all day and night. While he took a shower in the gym locker room, he started to realise that he was probably going to have to get a job or something.


	4. big d

After a week, the novelty of not having anyone telling him what to do was wearing off, and Pickles was starting to feel the cold at night. He was going to school just for something to do, and he started looking for parties every night for somewhere to go and for some easy booze. 

There was a guy he sometimes partied with. His name was Donny, but everyone called him Big D. He was 19 years old and was doing his senior year for the second time. Pickles thought that might have less to do with his brains, though, and more to do with the fact that he was a supplier for a lot of the school.

It might have been a stretch to call them friends, but they talked sometimes at parties. The next Friday night, Pickles was particularly drunk, and he ended up confiding in Big D about his situation.

"Look, if you can pay me a hundred bucks a month, you can sleep on my couch," Donny told him.

Pickles didn't have a hundred bucks right now, but he had seen a 'help wanted' sign earlier that day at the Dairy Queen next to the park.


	5. labor

He showed up at Big D's apartment a few days later with a hundred dollars in hand that he had swiped from the pocket of some kid passed out at a party. Not like it mattered to Big D where it came from, but even though Pickles didn't know the kid who took it from, he still felt a little bit guilty about it. He had to do what he had to do, though.

Donny let him in and showed him the place. It wasn't that great, but it was a hell of a lot better than sleeping outside. There was one bedroom, one bathroom, and the kitchen and living area were all kind of crammed into one. Donny showed him the couch that would be his, and gave him some closet space to put his shit in, but Pickles didn't really have much shit, anyway.

That night, he slept _so_ damned well, even though he didn't even have a drop of alcohol in his system.

 

The next morning, Donny left for school, but Pickles didn't. He took a hot, long, private shower, and then he walked over to that damned Dairy Queen and filled out an application. Apparently they were really hurting for help, though, because as he was leaving, a manager stopped him.

"Do you have time to do an interview now?" he asked Pickles. 

Pickles found himself sweating during the interview, and really unsure how to answer most of the questions, and he was totally sure he blew it. But the guy told him to be there Tuesday at 4:00 pm for his first shift.

 

After that triumph, Pickles had to go celebrate with a drink.


	6. assistance

Between going to school and going to work and going out to party after, Pickles usually only saw Donny in the morning before school. His first paycheck wasn't anything to brag about, but the morning after he got it, he gave most of it to Donny and told him to buy as much liquor as he could with it. 

When he got home from work that night, there was a paper grocery bag sitting next to his couch with an assortment of bottles inside. Pickles intended to ration this shit, somewhat, but he ended up drinking an entire bottle of whiskey that night.

Pickles wandered into school the next morning around 11:20, just in time for lunch. He was far too fucking hungover to eat anything, though. In his first class after lunch, he got called to the office. He didn't know what it was about, but he knew it wasn't going to be a good time, so he considered just walking out of the school.

But he was in kind of a fighting mood, so he went.

It was the guidance counselor who called him into her office, though, not the principal. Fuck.

With a sinking feeling, Pickles sat down opposite her.

"Matthew, do you know why you're in here?"

Pickles just glared at her. "No."

"The school called your parents today to discuss your attendance issues. If you don't do something about your attendance, you're going to fail the eleventh grade, you know."

Pickles didn't say anything. When she realised he wasn't going to, she continued.

"Your parents said you've run away from home."

 _That_ set him off. Pickles was seething. "Is it still called running away if your old man tells you to leave?"

Of course, Pickles was going to leave either way, but his parents clearly didn't give a shit. Whether he was gone or not, it didn't matter. He wasn't Seth. Seth was gone, and their worlds were ending, but Pickles was gone and they probably didn't even notice.

"I'm sure the situation is... complicated, Matthew, but we really are worried about your safety. Where are you living? How are you eating?"

Pickles slouched down further in the chair.

"I'm _fine._ I have an apartment. And a job. I'm fine." He wanted to tell her not to call him by that name, but fuck it. She didn't know him well enough, and she wasn't going to, so who cared?

"Be that as it may, your attendance..."

"I'll fucking come to school! Chill out! Can I go now?" He got up from his chair without waiting for an answer.

"You know, you can come to my office if you need to talk at any time," she offered him. 

_Fuck no_ , he was _not_ doing that.


	7. metal

Pickles had the next evening off work. He was feeling kind of angry and pissed off and stuff, though, and didn't really feel like being around too many people, so he just went home a little while after school. He didn't really know what the boundaries were since he didn't really have his own bedroom and all, was just kind of taking up the couch, but he figured that since he paid rent, it was fine for him to hang out there, too.

When he unlocked the door, Donny was home and hanging out in the living room. There was music playing, and it was music like Pickles had never listened to before. His mom always listened to shit like Barbara Streisand and his dad listened to shit like Jimmy Buffet. Seth just listened to whatever was on the radio. Pickles didn't really have much exposure to music, but whatever this was, he liked it a lot.

"Hey, Pickles. Didn't expect you to be home so early."

"Oh, yeah, sorry 'bout that." Pickles said, going to the kitchen counter to pour himself a drink. "Dude, what are you listening to?"

"They're called Tokyo Blade. From England."

"They sound awesome!" Pickles came into the living room area and realised that Donny was holding a guitar, playing along with the music. It wasn't plugged in, though, so he couldn't really hear it...

"I didn't even know you played, dude! That's so cool!"

Donny shrugged. "I'm not that good yet, but it's a way to pass the time."


	8. music

Pickles spent every minute he could hanging out with Donny and listening to his cassette collection. He had such good stuff, and Pickles hadn't even known such good music existed.

Donny told him the names of various bands' members, told him their stories. Told him the trials and tribulations they had to go through to make it as far as they had. Donny seemed to know a lot about this shit, which was surprising because Pickles thought that he didn't know anything about anything besides drugs and the art of selling them. It turned out that Donny actually knew a hell of a lot about music.

Pickles felt suddenly like an entire new world had opened up before him, and he wanted nothing more than to get lost exploring it.

Donny was most recently obsessed with the band Iron Maiden, and it seemed like nothing made him happier than talking about them. Pickles was perfectly happy to listen, absorbing everything he said like a sponge.


	9. acoustic

The next time Pickles was alone in the apartment, he opened Donny's bedroom door. Sure enough, there was his guitar. The electric one that Pickles had seen him playing was on a stand in the corner next to a small amplifier, and there was also an acoustic one leaned up against the wall next to his bed. He didn't know the first thing about guitars, but after he had listened to so much kick ass music with Donny, he knew he wanted to try to make those sounds himself.

He picked up the acoustic because he really didn't want to mess with the amp or anything and maybe fuck it up. First, he just ran his fingers over the strings, down the neck. Then he plucked each of the strings in turn. Well, wasn't like it was music or anything, but it was a good fucking feeling, even just that much.

He sat there for a while, just fooling around with it, trying to do stupid shit like play "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star". He sucked, but it was fun.

"Find something interesting?"

Donny was suddenly standing in the doorway to his room. Pickles hadn't even heard him come in.

"Oh, hey, sorry man... Didn't mean to, like, snoop or anything, you know?"

Donny shrugged. Pickles figured there was a lot of other shit in this room that Big D wouldn't want him touching, like his stash of his source of income.

"You wanna learn?" Donny asked him. "I'll teach you, if you want."


	10. drugs

The next night that Pickles had off of his shitty job, he came home early again. He found himself wanting to hang out with Donny more. Donny, who had introduced him to such good music. Donny, who was going to teach him to play guitar. Donny, who had taken him in when he had nowhere to go and turned his life around. He wanted to learn everything.

Donny wasn't there when he got back to the apartment, though, so Pickles sat down with a drink and fumbled around on Donny's guitar for a little while. When Donny did wander in, he had a couple of friends with him, and they all seemed to be high on something. It wasn't pot. Pickles knew what kind of high pot gave you.

"What did you guys take?" Pickles asked them casually after they'd been in for a few minutes. Donny knew he was cool with using and all, so there wasn't any reason to hide anything, right?

"Why, kid? You wanna get fucked up?" Donny' friend asked, laughing at him.

For some reason, that jackass' tone made him prickle up. "Yeah, I do," Pickles told him challengingly. This asshole better not treat him like a kid! He was a grown man, living on his own and everything!

"You've been drinking, Pickles. Can't let you have what we're having today," Donny told him. Maybe Pickles was imagining it, but Donny's tone seemed almost... gentle?

Was he... looking out for Pickles, or something?

Nobody had ever done that, so Pickles didn't really understand.

 

Donny and his friends left again shortly after that, and when Donny came back, he was alone, and Pickles was wasted.

"Why do you drink so much?" Donny asked him, once he had plopped down on the couch next to him.

"Being sober sucks," was the only explanation Pickles could offer.


	11. family

Pickles had taken to bringing a flask to work and school. Now that he was on his own with basically unlimited access to booze, he really didn't see a point in staying a hundred percent sober at any given time. It... helped. Even though things were going better than they ever had in his life, that didn't mean there wasn't a shitload of things he didn't want to remember.

One evening while he was at work, two of those very things walked through the front door and into the lobby. Those things were his parents. What the _fuck_? Were they here to buy some fucking ice cream? Just casually like that? Like they could just lose both of their sons and then just casually go on with their life as if nothing had happened?! 

Pickles was seething, but he was the one logged onto the register, so he had no choice but to face them.

"Matthew? You're working _here_?" his mother asked. He didn't like her tone, though. She didn't sound concerned. She was _judging_ him. How dare she judge him?! He was working and being a real adult and shit! She should be proud!

"What can I get for you today, ma'am?" Pickles asked, completely straight-faced. These people didn't want him in their lives. Fine. He would stay as far out of them as he could.

Once they were gone, though, Pickles ducked into the bathroom and emptied his flask into his stomach, guzzling it all down.


	12. lessons

"Put your fingers here. ...Now, here, play those four strings... Move them here, now."

Pickles soaked up Donny's guitar instruction like a sponge. Pickles had been favoring staying in with Donny rather than going out partying lately, because any time they were alone together, they were sitting close to each other on the couch, Donny teaching him the basics on his acoustic guitar. 

Pickles had learned a few simple chord progressions and was mostly just practicing scales and shit like that when he was on his own, but Donny was trying to teach him entire songs. Sure, he was shit so far, but it felt so good. 

He didn't understand why he hadn't been doing this his whole life.

At one point, Donny put his arm around the small of Pickles' back while he was playing. Pickles didn't think anything of it and didn't complain. But there was another point when Donny leaned close to him and kissed his cheek. Pickles did notice that.

He still didn't complain, but he didn't speak of it afterward, either.

 

The next night was Friday, so all the good parties were going on. He hopped between three of them, and at the third one, he got a cute, drunk freshman girl from his school to blow him in an upstairs bathroom.


	13. shopping

It was finally summer break, and Pickles had managed to finish the eleventh fucking grade. See, his stupid ass parents thought he wouldn't be able to do it. His stupid fuckin' guidance counselor thought he wouldn't be able to do it. But he went every day, and he half-assed the tests well enough to pass. He passed with the bare minimum, but he still fuckin' passed. That was all that mattered. Donny finally graduated, too. They were two successful assholes, weren't they?

Looking at his classmates, though, he felt so fucking alienated. None of them fucking had to work stupid jobs. Sure, they got drunk and partied on the weekends maybe, and some of them smoked pot with him or maybe used other things, but they didn't really have any idea what was going on in his life. They couldn't understand that it wasn't just about having a good time- it was a way of life.

Pickles had decided that now that it was summer, he could work a little more, maybe, and he wanted to save up to buy his own guitar. Sure, Donny didn't give a shit if Pickles played his, but Pickles needed one of his own. This was becoming more than just a hobby. It was a way of life,just as much as getting high.

He went to the closest music store. Had to take a bus to get there- wasn't like there was jack shit here in Tomahawk- but he went. He felt a little self-conscious going somewhere like an instrument store when he barely played an instrument, just walking in there all by himself and all, but Donny had given him a baggie full of pills a couple weeks ago to take when he was feeling tense. Donny was actually pretty good at looking out for him. So Pickles popped two of those on the bus, and by time he got to the store, he opened the door without any hesitation.

The walls were lined with guitars. That was the first thing he noticed. Some guy with long hair asked him if he needed some help, but Pickles just shook his head and started to look at all of them. Most of them were damn expensive. There was no way he was going to be able to buy one of these!

"Hey, dude," he said when the long haired sales guy was nearby again, "you got anything cheaper, but still pretty good?"

"Have you checked out the Epiphones?" the guy asked, and started leading Pickles over to the other side of the store. "They're Gibson knockoffs, but they're better than most if you're just starting out."

Pickles fell in love with a guitar that day, an Epiphone SG, and he felt more strongly toward it than he'd ever felt toward any girl.

But first, he needed to come up with $350, and that was more than he made in a month.


	14. molly

Pickles had had a shit day at work. He was sick of his stupid job. Especially now that it was summer, fucking kids kept coming in with their soccer or baseball or whatever teams to get ice cream after their stupid games. Then they'd all sit in all the seats, dropping ice cream all over the place, and Pickles would have to mop it up. And it was hot! He was fucking sick of it. He was better than this! He was a guitarist, now! Or, well, he was getting there...

Wait, what? That was the first time... Pickles had ever felt confident in himself. Better than someone else?

Yeah... yeah, he was!

He would be.

He came home around ten o'clock, and had his stupid uniform shirt off as soon as he got in the door. Donny was home and in the living room. Pickles kept shedding his clothes, not paying much attention. He grabbed a t-shirt and some jeans to replace his clothes, and finally acknowledged Donny while he was changing.

"What's up, man? What're you doin' tonight?"

Donny was sitting on the couch, measuring some white powder out into an oblaat capsule.

"I got some new music today," he told Pickles. "A couple things, but I got Slayer's new shit."

"Awesome," Pickles said, grinning, as he zipped his jeans. "But uh, what're you...?" He nodded to the shit Donny was measuring out.

"Just a little something to help me listen to this good shit. Want some?"

Pickles didn't know what it was, but since when did that stop him? He had no fuckin' parents! He could do whatever the fuck he wanted! Besides, Donny always looked out for him, so... he wouldn't give him anything he couldn't handle.

"Hell yeah I do!"

Pickles pulled the t-shirt down over his head and dropped down onto the couch next to Donny. 

"Kay, here, take this." Donny screwed the capsule together, and handed it to Pickles. "You're sober, right?"

"Haven't had a drink since like five."

"Good enough," Donny said, and set to work filling another capsule for himself. 

 

Pickles was sitting very still. He had his bare feet up on the coffee table, leaning back into the couch. The music was coming into his ears, and he wasn't looking at anything in particular, but everything was fucking amazing. He was sliding down further into the couch cushions, but he didn't really feel in control of the way his body was sliding, so he just let it happen.

Donny was saying something to him. Pickles wasn't sure what it was, because he was listening to the music and not to Donny. Somehow, he couldn't listen to both at once. For some reason. So he just nodded. Whatever it was... Pickles wasn't even sure it was a question. Maybe he was just saying the music was good? If so, a nod was still sufficient, right?

Pickles closed his eyes, just hearing. He didn't even know what he was listening to anymore. They were listening to Slayer, at first, but this wasn't Slayer, and Pickles didn't care what it was because it was so fucking good.

He wasn't sure how long later it was, but he felt something touching him on the neck. Pickles opened his eyes and kind of looked to the side. Donny was close... close to him. Donny's lips were on his neck. Pickles liked it, so he didn't say anything. It felt good. Who cared? But it started getting more intense, and then Pickles realised that Donny's lips were up against his, and Pickles was okay with it, he liked it...

When he felt a hand on the front of his jeans, he tensed up, just a little, but he went with it. 

"Donny?" He wasn't entirely sure what he should be doing.

"You okay, Pickles?" Donny asked him, but his voice sounded strange. Pickles nodded, or at least he thought he nodded... Everything felt really detached from his head.

"'Mokay."

There were fingers on his dick. He hadn't realised his pants were even open or down or anything, but fingers were on his dick, and after Pickles realised that, Pickles realised that he was making some sounds. This felt... good...

Making out with Donny felt pretty good, too...

But when Donny's fingers moved back past his balls, back to his...

" _No!_ " Pickles tensed up and pushed himself away from Donny as fast as he could.

"Pickles? Hey, sorry, I thought..."

It didn't matter what Donny thought. Pickles was trapped in memories he wanted nothing to do with.


	15. game

For a couple days, Pickles didn't come home. He went to work, he went to parties, he hung out in the park all night after that. That got old fast, though, and he wanted nothing more than walls around him. He wanted privacy. He went home, but even at home, it was impossible to guarantee privacy. As long as Donny wasn't home, it was fine, but if Donny came home, he had nowhere to go to be alone.

After a few days, he ended up locking himself in the bathroom after Donny came home, and staying there until Donny went to sleep.

The next day, alone in the apartment, he very nearly drank himself into a coma.

 

When Pickles woke up, his mouth hurt. Not 'hurt', exactly, but he was so thirsty that he thought his mouth might fall right off. His head sure as fuck hurt, though. But thankfully the blinds were closed, and...

Wait, he wasn't on the couch. He was in a... bed?

It had been a damned while since he was in a bed...

Donny's arms were around him. He realised more and more things. He was waking up, he was alive, Donny was holding him, he was in Donny's bed.

All of his clothes were still on.

He glanced to the side, and he saw a glass sitting on the table next to the bed. Pickles grabbed whatever it was and chugged it down until the glass was empty. Then, he rolled over, threw his arm around Donny's middle, and closed his eyes, with his face buried against Donny's chest.

 

When Pickles finally woke up for real, Donny was already awake, but he was still laying in bed with Pickles, holding onto him. Donny noticed he was awake pretty quickly, though.

"Hey. You wanna... talk about that shit?"

"Not really," Pickles said, pushing his face back against Donny. 

"Sorry if I..."

"It ain't you," Pickles assured him.

"I know. I... know." 

Donny held him as tightly as he could, but Pickles was too busy thinking, now, about the ways Seth had touched him when he didn't want him to. Seth called it all a game, told Pickles he would get in trouble if their parents knew he was playing a teenager game like that...

Pickles didn't fucking want to play anyway. But Seth made him.


	16. guitar

By the end of the summer, Pickles had set aside enough money after rent and food and booze money to get his guitar. It was amazing how much easier it was to save money without Seth blackmailing him out of his allowance all the time, but it had still taken far too fucking long and he had grown impatient. By now, with Donny's instruction, his skills were coming along pretty nicely. He could play a few songs. He was starting to be able to play by ear. Honestly, he was considering not going back to school to finish out his senior year, but part of him kind of wanted to stick it to his parents, prove that he could graduate and live a totally normal life without them. In fact, his life was better than it ever was with them! They had been holding him back! Making his life hell!

The last day before school started, Pickles got on a bus and went back to the music shop he had gone to at the start of summer. He was finally going to get that shiny, red Epiphone SG he'd had his eyes on. The one he'd been working toward all this time. 

When he got to the music store, he kept himself from looking too much at the Gibsons on the opposite wall. They were _better_ , he knew, and it pissed him off a little bit that he was going for a knock-off... 

But when he got over to the wall where his guitar was supposed to be, it was gone. 

"Where's my guitar?" he asked the guy who was working there, but he realised it wasn't the same guy who was there last time, and even if it was, he wouldn't remember Pickles. "The Epiphone SG, it was right there," he pointed. "Back at the beginning of June."

"I think we sold that one like two weeks ago, man. Sorry 'bout that. We can put one on order for you, if you want. Just have to sign a few..."

"No. I need a guitar today," Pickles insisted. But none of the other guitars that were in his price range were what he wanted, and he refused to settle for something he didn't want.

 

He hopped on the bus back toward home, but he didn't end up transferring. It was a half-assed plan, but he ended up heading further south, to Wausau. Not that Wausau was a big deal, but there was a hell of a lot more there than there was in Tomahawk, and it wasn't like it was really _that_ far.

Pickles didn't really know his way around Wausau, though. Not by foot. The only times he had come were with his parents when they wanted to go shopping or some shit and dragged him along, so he was in a car. So once he was off the bus, he wasn't really sure where he was going, but it was only about 4 pm, so he figured he had some time to wander around.

After about 30 minutes of walking, he passed a totally unremarkable shop. The front windows were barred, and the light inside was dim, but something in the window caught his eye and made Pickles stop in his tracks. It was a Gibson Les Paul. 

He looked up at the sign above the door. It was a pawn shop. Why the hell hadn't he thought of going to a pawn shop before? Stupid! But if it was a pawn shop, he could afford this, maybe...?

Excited, Pickles practically burst through the door and went straight to the man at the counter.

"Gimme your guitar."

"Oh, we got this sweet old jazz box guitar," the guy at the counter said, turning like he was going to go get something. Pickles didn't want this guy wasting his time with that!

"No! I want that Gibson Les Paul," he pointed over to the window. "Gold-top, with the humbuckers."

 

Pickles walked out of that shop with that gold-top Les Paul for three hundred bucks, fifty less than he'd been planning on paying for that stupid Epiphone. He had never been happier in his life.


	17. trade

Pickles found senior year of high school the hardest to take so far. He was really reconsidering his decision to make it through to the end and graduate. There were a lot of stupid tests, a lot of people worrying about college and shit, talk of taking ACTs... Pickles didn't care. He wasn't going to do any of that. He wasn't going to college. He just wanted to finish stupid fucking high school so he could rub it in his parents' stupid faces.

He'd kind of already decided: he was going to be a musician.

He felt frustrated, at odds with everything. Why do all this boring shit? This wasn't what he was meant to do with his life! He was wasting his time! Between that and his shitty job, he found himself drinking more and more, sitting drunk through classes.

One afternoon, he'd only been at work for about an hour, and his manager sent him home. Told him not to come back. The asshole said they knew he was drinking on the job and they weren't putting up with it.

Like it was that hard to fucking ring people up and clean floors and shit! Pickles didn't need to be sober for any of that!

 

Later that night, he told Donny he lost his job. He might have some trouble coming up with the rent this month. Not that he was even paying half... Really, Donny had managed to pay the rent just fine before Pickles came. It was just the principle of the thing, or something. Pickles wasn't sure where else he could get a job in this little shithole town...

Donny, though, had a suggestion for him.

"Since I'm not at school anymore, how 'bout you take over my clients there?" he offered. 

Pickles hadn't really considered it before. Selling drugs? It was kinda risky, but hell, Donny had been doing it forever and hadn't gotten into any trouble. 

Seth had, though.

"You just unload at school, and bring home the cash. You don't have to keep working a shit job."

That was fine with Pickles. It meant that he'd have more time to play guitar.


	18. bed

After that night when Pickles woke up in Donny's bed, they had shared the bed ever since. The night after, Pickles had gotten set up on the couch to sleep as usual, and Donny just came out and looked at him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Donny had asked. Pickles laughed to cover up his embarrassment before joining Donny in his room.

Donny slept in boxers and Pickles slept in his underwear and a t-shirt, and nothing happened between them, but usually they woke up with one of them hanging onto the other. It became normal, and they didn't question it or talk about it.

 

Months later, Pickles kissed Donny's lips quickly before going to sleep. He was just that _right_ kind of drunk, where he felt on top of the world, like he could do no wrong, and it just felt like the right thing to do. He knew Donny was pretty high, too, so it was probably alright. He didn't over-think it.

Donny immediately rolled onto his side and put his arm around Pickles. It felt nice, and Pickles felt nice, and he had no complaints. Donny was touching him a lot, he realised after a few minutes, just casually running his hand up and down Pickles' side, fingers slipping under his t-shirt, onto his stomach...

They got to the waistband of his underwear and Pickles tensed a bit. It wasn't that he didn't want to do things, it was just... complicated.

He did things with girls, though, so it was kind of stupid...

He waited until Donny's fingers closed around his cock before he said anything, though.

"I can't."

Donny kissed behind his ear. "Lemme suck you off. I won't do anything you don't want. I just wanna make you feel good."

Pickles' throat felt dry and tight, suddenly, but he nodded. Yeah, that sounded good...

Donny gently tugged on his hip until Pickles turned onto his back, and then he started to pull down Pickles' underwear, with some help from Pickles lifting his hips off the mattress.

"I'll stop if you want me to," Donny said, getting between Pickles' legs. His tongue dipped out, just tasting the tip of Pickles' cock. "Just tell me."

Even with his alcohol-induced sluggishness, Pickles' heart was beating like crazy, but he didn't tell Donny to stop.


	19. sex

Pickles didn't go to school the next day. He had been better about going to school this year, especially since he had a business venture in the works now that he had to be at school in order to keep up. He tried to take a shower in the morning, but thinking of what he had done the night before...

The thing was, he hadn't _done_ anything. He just let Donny do something to him. And he liked it. He just... couldn't handle looking at his own body after that.

He skipped out on taking a shower after all, and he took a couple oxys from Donny's stash. After that, he sat on the corner of the bed and played guitar for a couple hours.

 

When Donny came home, Pickles was just laying on the bed with his guitar, staring blankly at the ceiling. He wanted a drink but he didn't want to move. Even when Donny came in, he didn't want to move.

Donny came into the room, looked at him, and then ran his fingers kind of roughly through Pickles' hair.

"I think you should talk about it," Donny told him.

Pickles was silent for a moment, and the only part of his body that moved was his eyes as the turned to Donny.

"I can't talk about it," Pickles told him. "I think we should have sex."

Donny's hand went slack in his hair, and he was thinking or something. Pickles just closed his eyes. He didn't care. Donny took care of him, but honestly... this was the only way he could get through this.

"We can, if you want," Donny finally conceded. 

Pickles handed his guitar up to Donny. Well, he was standing. Pickles didn't want to get up to put it away. Donny took it and set it on its stand, next to his.

"You gotta top," Pickles told him.

"Wouldn't it be easier if you did?" Donny asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Probably. But who gives a shit? I can stick it to chicks whenever I want. That's not my problem."

 

So, they tried it. Donny refused to go too far if it seemed like Pickles couldn't handle it, so they weren't successful on the first try. Donny got a couple fingers in and Pickles freaked the fuck out. They weren't successful on the second try either.

By the third time they tried, Pickles had grown irritated, frustrated, and impatient. 

"Look. I don't care what happens, I want you to fuckin' just go for it this time," Pickles insisted, when they were both naked.

"You don't get it, do you?" Donny asked fiercely, startling Pickles a little bit with how serious he was. "If we don't do this right..."

Pickles met his eyes, challengingly. "Then what?"

"Then... you're gonna hate me as much as you hate him."

Pickles fell quiet. He wanted to tell him, reassure him, that could never happen, that wasn't true. But... he know that Donny maybe had a point. 

"Alright, well, fine. Fine then. So let's do it right."


	20. pills

Pickles started dabbling in oxys. Regularly. Oxys and xanax kept him going through the day. It meant he could get through the school day without having to bring alcohol to school with him. Now that he wasn't getting a regular paycheck of his own and just splitting everything with Donny, he almost felt guilty for his alcohol consumption, but.

Well, fuck that. Donny wasn't complaining about keeping him supplied.

After they finally had managed to have sex without Pickles visibly freaking out the first time, they'd been trying it more and more. Pickles like it... well, he wanted to like it. But even though he could manage it sometimes, there were still days when Donny's touch would set him off.

The pills helped with that. Alcohol made it worse, but the pills helped.

 

Pickles was drinking straight from a bottle of vodka and intently playing his guitar when Donny came home. He had a notebook on the coffee table in front of him, trying to kind of scribble some stuff down. He was kind of writing a song, but he wasn't really sure how to go about writing it down...

Donny was standing over him before he noticed, and he dropped a a little plastic bag onto Pickles' notebook.

"You're doing it wrong, kiddo. You can't take the shit you're supposed to be selling."

Pickles stupidly felt like some little kid who had gotten caught or something. Pickles felt something really strong and ugly and rebellious surge up in him. Was Donny going to try to kick him out of his house, too? 

Pickles was trying to decide whether he should apologise or fight or what when Donny continued.

"When you're done with those, let me know. I'll get you more. But stay out of the selling stash."

Donny ran his hand quickly through Pickles' hair and then helped himself to a drink of Pickles' vodka.

Even if Donny wasn't mad or anything, he had some kind of stupid feeling that Donny was trying to monitor his use or some stupid shit like that. Like Donny was so much better than him.


	21. plans

Christmas break was probably a time for partying, but Pickles no longer felt like he had anything in common with the people he went to school with. Unless he felt like getting with a girl, he didn't party too much anymore. He was older than those idiots, or something. More mature? He lived on his own, he could drink and take whatever he wanted, he wasn't hurting for money, and above all, he was a god damn musician. He had nothing in common with them at all. They were just regular old jack offs. They didn't mean anything.

So over break, he didn't do much but play his guitar. He started writing songs a lot, but it was kind of hard with just him on guitar. He was starting to crave playing with other people. He could play with Donny, but he was pretty sure there was no one else in this shithole town who they could play with.

He had the amp on loud one afternoon when Donny came strolling in, and he was jamming away to something he'd been writing, singing along to it. He had kind of written lyrics...

Donny came and leaned over the back of the couch, just listening to him for a few minutes, until Pickles finally stopped. That was as far as he'd gotten on the song.

Donny leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"You're getting good, Pickles. You're better than me, now."

"Guess the student's surpassed the teacher, eh?" Pickles joked. 

"Fuck off, you wouldn't have gotten anywhere without me," Donny laughed. "I didn't know you could sing, though."

"I guess... I didn't really, either," Pickles said with a shrug.

"We should start a band. You wanna be a musician, right?"

"I _am_ a musician," Pickles insisted. "But... Eh, I'm just some fuckin' nobody from Tomahawk, yanno?"

"You've got what it takes. I'm gonna see your name in lights, kiddo. I believe it."

Pickles felt good about that, but. "How the fuck am I going to find bandmates around here?" 

Donny sat down next to him on the couch. "Who says they gotta be around here? Get the fuck outta Tomahawk. Music won't come to you? Fuckin' go to it."

"What?"

"We'll go to LA, dude. That's where it's at."

Pickles was kind of dumbstruck for a moment. Go to LA? Him? ...Yeah. Yeah, actually... he really liked the idea of that. 

"I am _so_ down for that." Pickles realised he was grinning.

"Awesome. Then we'll go as soon as you graduate. Fuckin' sell our shit, take a bus out there, leave all this shit behind us..."

Pickles lowered his guitar in his lap and imagined that for a moment. Getting out of this little shithole of a town. Never having to see his parents again. Never even having to think about seeing Seth again. Getting some other guys, playing some music. Donny playing guitar with him, side by side.

It would be fucking amazing.

He still had like 6 more months of school, though. What a fucking painful thought.

"Do I _have_ to graduate?" he complained. Donny just laughed at him, though, and ran his fingers through Pickles' hair.

"C'mon. You've gotten this far. Even I managed to do it, so I know you fuckin' can."

Pickles sighed and set his guitar aside, and then he reached for the bottle he had open on the table. 

"I guess," Pickles conceded. "Hey, I heard some shit today. They're raising the drinking age to 19 in July. Just when I'm about to turn 18, they pull this shit!"

Donny put his arm around his shoulders roughly, and Pickles leaned into him. 

"You forgetting, or something? You got me, don'tcha?"


	22. police

Pickles went out to meet a guy to make a transaction one evening. Usually he only did this stuff during school hours, since Donny took care of the out of school hook-ups, but it was a guy from school who he usually sold to. Guy just didn't have the money at school, so they made plans to meet later. After he met up with the guy, he stole two tall boys from a convenience store and headed over to the park with them. He didn't really need to steal them. There was alcohol at home. But he felt a little bit like he'd been being _too good_ lately, and stealing gave him kind of a rush.

He had barely sat down and popped the top on the first one when footsteps and a flashlight came toward him. Pickles sat still like a fuckin' deer caught in headlights, but maybe that was just because of the xanax he had taken a bit ago.

"You know the park closes at dusk, right?" the cop asked him. Pickles didn't say anything. He didn't recognise this one. Must be newer. The cop shined his flashlight toward the can in Pickles' hand. 

"A little young to be drinking, ain't you? Breaking open container law regardless. C'mon, son, stand up. Gonna need to see some ID from you."

"Don't have any," Pickles muttered, scowling. And then he took a long drink from the can.

"To your feet, son. Put your hands on your head."

This was nothing new to him. He put down the open beer, shifting a bit so the other one would stay put in his jacket. If the cop didn't pat him down, he might be able to keep it. Calmly, he got to his feet and put his hands on his head just like the asshole told him to.

Pickles wanted to kick this guy in the balls more than anything.

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen in May."

The cop scoffed. "Shouldn't be drinking until May, then, eh, boy? What's your name?"

"Pickles."

"That ain't a name, smartass. Real name."

Pickles didn't even bother to scowl. "Matthew Dillon."

The cop patted him down, but not that well. He didn't fuck with Pickles' other beer. Who really gave a shit? This asshole had to know there was nothing better to do in Tomahawk than drink. He didn't have any weapons on him, so he wasn't deemed dangerous, or something.

"I'm gonna need you to give me your address."

That was when Pickles' heart rate spiked. This asshole wasn't going to charge him or anything, but they would escort him home to let his parents deal with him. It had happened so many times before- why didn't he fucking realise this?

Above all else, he couldn't have the cops take him to his real home. Donny's home. They had drugs there. Luckily he had nothing on him now, but he would _not_ let the cops anywhere near that place.

So, he gave his parents' address. He had no choice. 

 

He kept his eyes downcast while the cop talked to his mom. Luckily it wasn't his dad who answered the door, because that guy would have told this fuckin' cop that he didn't live here. His mom just thanked the officer for bringing him home and apologised for the trouble he had caused. Pickles didn't say a word, no matter what anyone said to him.

The cop left him with a warning. He was almost 18, and when that time came, he'd be an adult.

Fuck that, Pickles would _never_ be an adult.


	23. mom

After the cop left him with alone with his mom, Pickles kept staring at the floor, willing away the awkward silence. His mom was probably looking at him or something. Pickles didn't look at her.

"Uh, so... I'll just be going, then." He started to turn back to the door.

"Matthew, what the hell do you think you're doing?" his mother grabbed onto his arm. "You up and disappear on us, and a year later you turn up with a police officer like nothing has changed? _Your brother_ is in prison and he still contacts us more than you do, and come to think of it, _he's_ at least cleaned up his act. Apparently _you_ haven't."

Pickles ground his teeth together so hard he thought they might break. No. Couldn't deal with this, not today. Not ever.

"What are you even _doing_ with your life?" she continued. "You've dropped out of high school, haven't you? Still working at the Dairy Queen? You know you won't have any kind of future that way."

Frustrated, Pickles turned back to face his mom, really looked her right in the eye.

"Oh, I'm fucking graduating," he burst out, "in just a couple months. You guys thought I wouldn't even finish eleventh grade- _I did_. I'm gonna finish twelfth grade, too. And then I'm _leaving_ this shitty town, and you'll see, I'll have an awesome life. You'll see."

"Leaving? Where the hell to?" His mother's voice was full of disbelief. 

"LA," Pickles told her, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

" _Los Angeles?_ Why on earth...?"

"I'm a musician. And I'm gonna go make some fuckin' music."

"Matthew, don't be ridiculous. Seth used to say the same thing when he was a boy, but luckily _he_ came to his senses-"

" _He is in prison,_ mom. And I am _not_ him."

Pickles wrenched his arm away form his mom, and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.


	24. od

The whole long, cold walk home, Pickles was silently praying that Donny would be home when he got back. Something about all of this had shaken him. Pickles didn't want to admit it, but it had. And he wouldn't have to admit it to Donny, either, but Donny would still know that something was wrong, and Donny would.... take care of him, or something. Whatever.

But when Pickles got home, Donny wasn't there. Frustrated, more frustrated than he had even realised he was, Pickles punched a wall hard enough to bloody his hand. He ignored it and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the kitchen cupboard, and then he got into his little bag of pills that were just for him. There were only three left. Pickles took all three of them at once, and washed them down with a gulp of vodka. 

He went to the bedroom and curled up in bed, clutching his bottle more like a security blanket than actually drinking it. He drank a little, but it just seemed increasingly less important as the pills started to kick in. 

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the room started spinning or something, and he just felt _sick_. Sick as fuck. Pickles dragged himself out of bed, but it was really hard to move. His legs weren't working right, and everything seemed to be moving all around him, but he got himself to the bathroom in time to vomit all over the toilet. 

After that, he couldn't get himself off the bathroom floor, so he just stayed there. It ended up being for the best, because he puked again a bit later, but his chest was also getting tight. He couldn't breathe?

But he couldn't stay awake any longer, either. He laid his head down on the floor and passed out.

 

Pickles squinted up at something, but opening his eyes too much was hard. He groaned and tried to move around. When he could finally focus at all, he was looking up at Donny's face. Donny was white as a fucking sheet, but he was holding onto Pickles. Pickles turned his face against Donny's chest for comfort, but he was struggling.

"Hey, no. Move your head. You gotta breathe, kiddo." 

Donny shifted him a little bit so that his face wasn't obstructed by anything. Breathing was kind of difficult. He wasn't really with it enough to understand why.

 

Later, when Pickles was finally able to sit up, he looked around slowly. They were just outside the bathroom. He could smell puke. Donny was with him, and there was an empty syringe on the floor next to them.

"Guess I... fucked up, huh?" Pickles rasped out. Shit, his throat was raw.


	25. regulation

Donny kept him off oxys for two weeks after his overdose. Wouldn't even let him sell them to anyone at school. After that, he wouldn't give Pickles a new bag of them. He made Pickles ask for them every time he wanted to take them. Donny was controlling his use and it pissed Pickles off more than anything. When he got in a fighting mood and confronted Donny about it, Donny told him that Pickles would be dead without him, so this was how it was going to have to be.

Pickles knew it was true. 

For a day after that, Pickles considered that maybe he _wanted_ to be dead. But... no. He had music to make. Couldn't do that shit if he was dead. So he had to stay alive. No, he didn't really want to think about death at all.

He still hated that Donny was controlling what he put in his body, though. 

It was another week before Pickles admitted to Donny that he'd had to see his mother, and all the shit with that cop, and stealing those beers, and that was the reason behind everything. He was drinking a lot that night, otherwise he might not have said anything at all.

"She kept comparing me to _my brother._ She always does that! Like he's so perfect. What the hell, dude? He's in _prison!_ And she's still going on about how much _better_ than me he is! She doesn't even _know_ , dude. She doesn't know the shit he's done. The shit he's done to _me_."

"Hey... It's okay, dude. Once we go to LA, you'll never have to see her again. Just a couple more months, Pickles."

Pickles took another angry swig from the bottle to finish it off, and then set it down with a clunk on the coffee table.

"Fuck it, dude. We've got practicing to do. So when we get to LA... we'll be fuckin' _ready_."

He didn't want to think about his family. Not ever again.


	26. e

"I talked to an old friend of mine today," Donny told him one day when he got home from school.

"Yeah?" Pickles asked, dropping his backpack and grabbing for his guitar, even before pouring himself a drink.

"Yeah, it was a kid I went to middle school with."

"Back when you lived in Ohio?" Pickles sat down on the couch and started to play without plugging in.

"Mhm. He's out in LA now, too. He's a drummer. Said he'd look around to see if he can help find us a place out there."

Pickles paused for a moment. That was fuckin' awesome! He hadn't really thought about a lot of that kind of stuff, like moving or finding a new place or anything... It seemed like a pain in the ass, but he figured it would be an adventure. 

"That's cool. You should tell him to be our drummer." They'd be just about set, then. Pickles had decided that he wanted to sing as well as play guitar. Well, more like Donny had encouraged him to. And he had Donny for rhythm guitar. If this friend of his drummed for them, they'd just need a bassist.

And a _kick ass_ band name.

"Well, I guess he's in a band right now, but who knows?" Donny glanced over at the clock. "Shit, I gotta get going. Gotta meet a dude."

He kissed Pickles on the cheek, and got up.

"Later, man," Pickles told him. "Oh yeah, wouldja bring me back some rum?" 

"Sure thing, kiddo. See ya."

Pickles flipped open his song notebook. Now that their plans were starting to come together, Pickles was feeling really fucking inspired. He had no experience, sure, but he figured that if he had enough songs ready by time they left for LA, they'd impress enough people that it would be easy to get members for their band.

 

Pickles was still sober hours later. He'd been waiting on that rum, but Donny hadn't come back yet. Which seemed strange. Pickles thought maybe he went to chill at a house party or something, but it was kind of early for a party to be starting, and he hadn't mentioned it.

He didn't think too much of it, though. He took a couple shots of tequila, and then took a hot shower. It was April, so the weather was starting to get warmer, finally, but it was still cool enough that a scalding shower felt nice.

It was a couple hours after that when the phone call came.

"Pickles, it's me."

"Donny? What's goin' on?"

"I was arrested, Pickles." The words crashed into him like a freight train. "Was caught carrying E. A lot of it."

"Wh-what?! But..."

"Listen. It doesn't look good right now. There's money in a box under the bed. It's yours. Use it for rent and shit, whatever. They're trying to get a warrant to search our place. If they find anything there, you're gonna be in trouble, too."

"Can't I, like, bail you out or something?!"

"Even if you could, I'll still have a trial. The shit was in my pocket... there's no way I'm not gonna be found guilty, Pickles. I'm gonna have to do time."

"Fuck this!" Pickles said, his urge to fight kicking up inside him. "This is bullshit! You're not fucking going to jail, we are going to fuckin' LA! We're fuckin' gonna... make a band..."

"Yeah, you are," Donny agreed quietly. Pickles was maybe imagining it, but his voice sounded shaky or something. "You... gotta go without me, kid. That money's yours, I'm serious. Sell whatever stuff of mine you need to sell."

"No way!" Pickles said, "You'll need it when you get out."

Donny sighed. "I gotta go for now, Pickles. I'll be in touch when I can, okay? Don't... do anything fucking stupid, kiddo. Not while I'm not there to look after you."


	27. stupid

After Donny was arrested, the first thing Pickles did was drink until he passed out. The next day when he woke up, he didn't go to school. He didn't even think about it, like it wasn't even an option that passed through his mind. He jerked off almost violently, not because he was particularly horny, but because he was frustrated as hell and felt powerless. 

After that, he couldn't wrap his mind around everything, and he fell into a state of protective numbness. He went into autopilot mode. Cops might come search their place, Donny said, so he had to get rid of whatever stash was in the place, or at least hide it. Would they have like drug dogs and shit? Pickles had no fucking clue.

He also had no clue where Donny kept the stuff. Donny never let him see him get it out.

He ended up finding it under the bed. Donny had said there was a box of cash under the bed, which was true, but it was a box of cash inside a larger box where he was keeping at least part of his stash. Pickles didn't know if this was everything, and he understood Donny couldn't say anything from a fuckin' cop phone, but...

He had to get rid of this shit. Sell it. Or... take it...

Donny told him not to do anything stupid. 

To distract himself, Pickles started to count through the cash, but he was quickly realising it was a hell of a lot of money. Donny never really needed him to pay a hundred bucks a month to sleep on his couch, did he? Pickles had no idea how much the rent was. Did he have to tell the landlord or whatever that Donny had been arrested? He wasn't on the lease or anything...

Pickles had no idea how to handle any of this shit! He had never... had to, before...

To keep himself from breaking down, he started to sort out the stash. There was the stuff that he knew he could unload at school, and the stuff he couldn't. There were a couple of bags of shit that he couldn't even identify. There were some things he wanted to keep for himself, but...

Donny told him not to do anything stupid.

Pickles was fuckin' stupid, though! He did a lot of stupid shit! Without Donny around, how was he supposed to not do anything stupid?

No, Pickles couldn't handle this. He needed a fucking drink.


	28. conviction

Pickles didn't go to school for a few days. He like... just forgot about it. He got a call from the school with a warning, though, and it reminded him. He had to graduate soon, after all. It didn't seem important anymore, but he knew that Donny would be pissed if he didn't. Besides, he had made it this far...

He sold all this shit he could at school when he did go back. He chanced keeping the rest of it in his locker. He dumped the stuff that he couldn't identify down the toilet. He hid the alcohol up in the top of the cupboards, like it wasn't his or something. He still had a month until his birthday, but it wasn't illegal for Donny to have had it around, so what the hell could the cops do? 

They didn't do anything about it. The cops did show up with a warrant, and they looked through the apartment. Pickles hadn't particularly cleaned it up or anything because he thought it would look suspicious. He was getting fucking paranoid, and he was too sober for his own good. The assholes searched the apartment, and they asked if Pickles knew anything about Donny having drugs on him. Pickles said he had no idea. He wasn't fuckin' under oath here!

The cops didn't find anything, though. He thought that might be good, like maybe Donny wouldn't get into so much trouble or something, but he got another call from Donny two days after that.

"Pickles, you doing okay?"

"Whoa, I should be the one asking that!" 

Donny actually laughed a little, but he sounded tired. "Don't worry. I'll be okay. I had my trial."

" _And...?_ "

"Well, I got convicted, kid... Told you I would... But, look, I'm only getting a year and a half. It's not so bad."

Pickles didn't see what the hell was 'not so bad' about that. Fuck!

"Where are you gonna be?"

"Lincoln County." 

Pickles breathed a sigh of relief. Seth was sent to Milwaukee. If Donny had been sent to fucking Milwaukee, too...

"Alright. So... I'll come visit you, then," Pickles told him. Donny didn't say anything for a moment. Pickles had no idea what he was thinking.

"You... don't need to do that. Jail sucks, dude. I don't want you to see me in this place," he laughed a little. 

"Fuck you," Pickles told him. "I'll come visit you if I want to."


	29. visit

Pickles tried to avoid the issue of the apartment until his birthday, but about a week into May, the landlord came to the door because the rent was late. Pickles had no choice but to explain everything. He got scolded because he hadn't been on the lease, but the guy was actually pretty nice. Pickles paid him the rent money, and explained that his 18th birthday was in two weeks, and the landlord agreed to let him sign on to take over Donny's lease at that time.

Didn't matter, because by mid-June he planned to be gone.

He realised... that meant he had to do something with Donny's things. Pickles had no idea what to do. Donny had told him to sell whatever he needed to, but... What the hell did Donny think he was going to do when he got out?

Pickles decided he had to visit Donny in jail, so he went that Saturday.

 

Walking into a prison of his own free will felt like the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life. Every fiber of his fucking body was yelling at him not to do this. But Pickles had to keep reminding himself that he wasn't in trouble. Donny was, but he wasn't. 

They searched every inch of him before they let him in. They asked him a lot of stupid questions, and Pickles' rebellious nature screamed at him not to answer. They were fuckin' cop pigs! You didn't tell those assholes anything! He knew better!

It took forever, but they finally led him into a room. But it was just like fucking TV- he had to talk through a glass on a phone and all. When he complained, the guard told him only family members could have contact visits.

"The fuck! We are basically family!" was the first thing Pickles said into the phone. Though, if they were family, they probably shouldn't be doing some of the things they did together...

Not like that stopped _Seth_.

No, couldn't think about that right now. No time for that.

"Hey, hey. At least we can still see each other at all, right?" Donny said. Pickles really looked at him, then, getting close to the glass. Shit, Donny looked terrible.

"Dude. You look like shit. I'm gonna bust you outta here, okay?"

"Don't say that," Donny told him, but he was grinning a little. "They'll be all over you in a second if you talk like that. Hey. You didn't have to come here..."

"I know! But I gotta see you, yanno? Besides, I gotta talk to you about things... The landlord, I talked to him, paid the rent and shit, yanno, he's letting me take over your lease on the 21st, so..."

"Why bother? You're leaving in June."

Pickles was quiet for a moment. He still... was planning on going to LA, yeah. But now, without Donny, he felt like he couldn't. He felt like he _shouldn't_ , shouldn't abandon Donny. It was all Donny's idea to go in the first place!

"Maybe I should wait until you're out," Pickles said hesitantly.

"What? No, kid. No. Your music ain't waiting on me. Fuck that. I'll see you when I get out of here, but you go get a head start, alright? Go get fuckin' famous, Pickles."

Pickles was kind of startled how emphatic Donny was being about it.

"Well... what should I do with your stuff? And the lease and all? I've never... done this stuff..."

Pickles suddenly realised how pathetic he was. He was still hanging onto Donny's coattails, huh? Even though Donny was in prison, Pickles still came running to him for help.

"I don't care about my stuff. Sell it. Even my guitars, if you don't want them. Yours is nicer, anyway. You can pay to break the lease, just ask the landlord about it before you go. Whatever stuff you don't sell, you can throw away or just leave there or whatever. The landlord will have to clean it out, not your fuckin' problem."

"What are you gonna do when you get out?" Pickles asked. If he had no stuff... his family was all really far away, and he had nearly as good of a relationship with them as Pickles did with his family.

"Well, you'll be a famous rockstar by then, right?" Donny gave him a tired smile. "I'm sure you'll gimme a hand, huh?"

So that was it, then. Pickles had to be successful. If he wasn't, he'd let Donny down when he got out. Donny had saved him, taken him in when he had nothing and nowhere to go. The least Pickles could do was return the favour. 

"I got another favour to ask you, too, though" Donny said abruptly. His face had gotten serious, and he was leaning close to the glass, really looking at Pickles.

"Yeah? Anything."

"Calm down on the pills, dude. I'm... not there to take care of you. If anything happens..."

Donny put his hand on the glass. Pickles reached up, hesitantly, to meet it.

He knew. He understood. Donny really... cared so much about him. It was kind of insane.

The feeling was fuckin' mutual, though.


	30. goodbye

Pickles got rid of the rest of the pills just so they wouldn't be around to tempt him. Donny wanted him to slow down on them, didn't tell him he had to quit, but Pickles kind of knew it was an all or nothing kind of thing. So he removed them from even being an option. 

It sucked, but he knew Donny was right. If he overdosed again, who the hell was going to come bustin' in like a superhero to save him like Donny had last time? Not like Pickles knew how all that had gone down since he'd been passed out and all. But he imagined it was kind of like that.

He went through withdrawal for a little bit, and it sucked ass. But it was nothing he couldn't handle. He still had alcohol to get him through it, after all. Although, he was back to stealing it.

Pickles visited Donny on the weekends. On week days after school, he worked on getting rid of as much stuff from the apartment as he could. He managed to sell off a lot of stuff, and he threw away stuff that was worthless and that he couldn't take with him. Selling Donny's guitars was the hardest part. He wanted to keep them, take them with him, but he knew he was going to be traveling by bus, and he was going to have a hard enough time of that with his own guitar and whatever shit he took with him.

To be honest, everything he was doing to prepare was just serving as a distraction. He had this big old plan, but he just didn't see it actually working out. By preparing for it all so hard, he was kind of keeping himself from freaking out about it.

May 21st rolled around and Pickles turned eighteen. He went out and bought as much as alcohol as he could justify buying, _just because he could_ , and got hammered, even though he had a big test the next day. His grades didn't really matter as long as he passed.

 

By the second week of June, the apartment had gotten damned empty. It was fucking depressing and Pickles hated it. But it had been too empty ever since Donny had been arrested. He hated staying in it by himself and he kind of couldn't wait to go to LA. Except it kind of seemed like it would be just as lonely there, too.

On his drunker nights, he was starting to get really angry and bitter that Donny wasn't there for him anymore.

 

June 9th was the last day he visited Donny at Lincoln County Jail. 

Pickles was really quiet when he picked up the phone. He wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want to say goodbye. He had drank vodka out of a water bottle the whole bus ride to the prison, so he wasn't exactly feeling too sober, but he wouldn't have been able to handle this while sober.

"Tomorrow's the day, huh?" Donny finally asked him. 

Pickles just nodded. 

"Graduation sucks, dude. Glad I won't be there to suffer through it," Donny said lightheartedly. 

"I don't think I can go," Pickles told him abruptly. 

"Hey, it sucks, but you gotta do it, yanno?"

"I mean to LA. I don't think I can go to LA."

"'Cause of me?"

Pickles looked away, but kind of half-nodded. 

"You're being a fucking idiot," Donny told him coolly. "You're going, dude."

 

Before the visit ended, Pickles had ended up breaking down and crying. It wasn't one of his finer moments, and he didn't particularly want that to be Donny's last impression of him. To his surprise, though, the guards, who had grown accustomed to him coming every weekend, took pity on him and allowed them a few minutes together in a family visitation room.

Pickles almost wished they hadn't, because had held onto Donny so tightly that he didn't think he'd be able to let go, and kissed him harder than he'd ever kissed anyone in his life.


	31. graduation

Pickles was drunk long before the commencement ceremony started, and he didn't even bother hiding the liquor he brought with him in an unmarked container. Just brought the whole damn bottle in. This shit didn't matter. He had fucking done it. He had fucking finished high school. He never had to fucking go to school again!

He might never see Donny again.

He drank more so he wouldn't have to think about that.

There was a distinct part in the ceremony where Pickles thought that he probably wouldn't remember any of this later. 

When he walked off the field, though, with his diploma in hand, he saw his parents sitting in the audience. Pickles held his diploma up to them with one hand, and with the other hand gave them the finger. See who fuckin' belonged in a garbage can now! 

Even if he remembered nothing else from today, he hoped he could at least remember doing that much.

 

He walked past all the fucking jack off kids reuniting with their proud, smiling families for pictures and crap outside the school and pretended it didn't bother him that he wasn't doing the same. But hey, he had an empty apartment to get back to.


	32. la

The day after graduation, Pickles bought a Greyhound ticket. He also left two months' rent for the landlord. He hadn't bothered working shit out with the landlord to break the lease or anything because he just fucking didn't know what he was doing, but he figured that would be enough money. He set up a bank account and deposited most of the money he had left over.

In the end, all he had was his guitar and the duffel bag he originally left home with. That seemed like a fucking lifetime ago. The contents of the bag were different now. That made sense, though; Pickles was different now.

 

The next day, he was on a bus, but he couldn't help thinking that he shouldn't be leaving Donny behind. He was way too sober for any of this, but he made sure to get a drink every time the bus stopped for a break.

 

By time he got to Los Angeles, Pickles felt like this had maybe all been a dream. Wasn't it a little too crazy for all this to be happening? The first thing he noticed was that it was _fucking hot_ in LA, but that was a nice change from Tomahawk.

In fact, everything in LA was a nice change from Tomahawk. Setting off on foot from the bus station was an adventure, one that had no destination. Everything in LA was artistic and free. The people were way different than the people in Tomahawk, way different than anyone he'd ever met in his life.

But by the end of the day, the strap on his Les Paul case was cutting into his shoulder, his duffel bag was dragging on the ground, and he knew he needed to find a place to sleep. He booked a bed at a hostel, and once his things were locked up, he went out to have his first drink at an LA bar.

He didn't find out until he got to one, though, that the drinking age in California was 21.

He left the bar, pissed off, and just went back to the hostel. LA was cool and all, but he couldn't help thinking it would be way cooler if Donny was with him.


	33. stage

During the first week or so, Pickles got really acquainted with the livehouses in the area by seeing all the shows he could, sometimes multiple shows a night. There was so much music here, it was insane, and it was all _so good._ Well, a lot of it wasn't _that_ good. Pickles knew he could do better than some of these guys.

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, though. He didn't have any experience playing in a band, and now he was alone. He was supposed to make a band with Donny. Pickles avoided calling Donny, not even to let him know he had gotten to LA alright. He wanted to talk to him, sure, but it just seemed kind of hard. Like if he told Donny about what he was doing, he'd feel guilty as fuck. He was out here, moving on with his life, and Donny was all locked up and shit. 

Aside from that, he didn't want Donny to know that he was actually kind of scared about all this. He didn't want to have to get another stupid job. He also didn't really know how to go about getting an apartment or anything. So he stuck with the hostel for a while. It was cheap enough that he didn't really have to worry about anything, and he didn't hang out there long enough for the lack of privacy to really get to him. Besides, it was a good source of information. The other people staying there had stories to tell, or recommendations for places to go.

One of the guys there told Pickles about a bar just a couple blocks away that had open mic night every Wednesday, so the next Wednesday that rolled around, Pickles showed up there, guitar in hand. 

His palms were sweaty as he waited his turn to play. But when he got onto the stage, he realised just how tiny it was, and he noticed that most of the people in the bar weren't even paying attention. There weren't even that many people there at all! So, Pickles relaxed, plugged into the amp that the bar provided and lowered the microphone. He was only allowed one song, so he made it count, and he played and sang his cover of Mötley Crüe's "Shout At The Devil".

He felt like an idiot up there without anyone playing with him, not even Donny playing rhythm guitar for him. The song needed its drums, too! But nobody cared too much about what he was doing, so he really poured his heart into it, and when he was done, he got a little bit of applause and felt fuckin' exhilarated. 

That was probably the beginning of everything, or something like that.


	34. drummer

He talked to the people who ran the hostel after he'd been there for a while and worked out a deal where he helped them with cleaning and upkeep in exchange for board. That way he wasn't at risk for getting kicked out due to booking, so he had a little bit of security in his situation. It also was a pretty sweet deal to not have to pay for a place to sleep. It wasn't like he was earning any income.

So, during the day, he cleaned. At night, he played every Wednesday at that bar, and he found bars that offered open mic nights on other nights and played there, too. He played anywhere that would give him a stage, and it wasn't long before he stopped feeling nervous about it. 

He still felt like an idiot, playing alone like that, but for now, it was what he had to do.

One night, he got off the stage and went over to the bar. Sure, he wasn't legally allowed to drink in California, but this bar didn't even check ID. He had figured out pretty quickly that some places didn't bother and would just serve you whatever you asked for if you did it with confidence. It really wasn't hard to get alcohol at all.

He was turning away from the bar with a glass of whiskey in his hand when a hand fell on his shoulder.

"Yo, you said your name is Pickles?"

Pickles' first reaction was to be defensive, maybe fight this guy. But he could tell from looking him over that he was probably a musician. Long, blonde hair, painted nails. He looked the type. So he swallowed all that down, and met the guy's eyes.

"Yeah. Why?"

"You talk funny. You from Wisconsin?"

He narrowed his eyes, but instead of getting mad, he just took a long sip of his drink.

"Yeah, Tomahawk." This guy didn't talk like he was from LA, either, so what was the big deal? It was his guitar skills he wanted people to notice, not his fuckin' accent! Everyone commented on it a lot here, and Pickles was already a little tired of it.

To his surprise, though, the guy broke out in a huge grin. "Thought so. You're Donny's pal."

Pickles was confused as hell for a second, but then he remembered. It felt like a lifetime ago, but Donny had told him he had a friend out here... He'd forgotten about all of that, though, because Donny was arrested right after that, and it just wasn't important anymore.

"You're that dude? That drummer dude?"

"Sure am!" He stuck out his hand for Pickles to shake. "The name's Sammy. Sammy Twinskins."

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr user [skelethal-boy](http://skelethal-boy.tumblr.com) did some Donny/Pickles sketches from this story. [Click here](http://skelethal-boy.tumblr.com/post/69756349522/sketches-for-sawadas-kloksucker) and check them out!
> 
> Tumblr user [shitsuren-chama](http://shitsuren-chama.tumblr.com) drew a scene from chapter 12- check it out [here](http://shitsuren-chama.tumblr.com/post/77161261351/fan-art-from-ch-12-of-shit-happens-by)!


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